Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I’m trying not to lose my shit, I really am. But my son. He’s seen my son. My whole world is crumbling, and I don’t know how to handle this. No matter what, I lose.
Conor opens the door and gets out of the car, letting me know he’s done fucking around. I don’t want Archer to be afraid, and running is pointless. I cling to Archer’s hand with mine, desperately trying to think of a solution. My legs feel weak, and my heartbeat is thrashing in my ears. I don’t know Conor well enough to understand his character. But what else do I really need to know about him?
He’s mafia.
The mafia that I convinced myself it would be a great idea to go work for. “Please,” I whisper. “Leave him out of this.”
“Ivy,” Conor’s voice softens as his eyes meet mine. “Your son is safe. On that, I give ye my word.”
I pull Archer into my side, wanting so badly to believe it’s true. But Conor can see my doubt isn’t going anywhere, and he takes matters into his own hands, kneeling down so he’s face to face with my baby.
“Hello there, wee fella.” He ruffles Archer’s hair with his big hand. “My name is Conor, what’s yours?”
Archer giggles. “You have a funny accent.”
Conor’s lip tilts at the corner. “I know, aye.”
Archer puffs up his chest proudly. “I’m Archer. And I’m four years old.”
“Glad to meet ye, Archer,” Conor says. “Ye must be cold. What do ye say we sort ye out a hot chocolate to warm up those bones?”
Archer nods eagerly, and my body turns to stone when Conor takes him by the hand and leads him toward the car.
“Conor, I—”
“Get in.” Conor shoots me a look that warns me not to fight him on this. “I promised the boy some hot chocolate. If ye’re good, I’ll buy you one too.”
I watch helplessly as he buckles Archer in, debating my options. But the truth is, I’m out of them. Conor knows about him, he’s seen him, and there’s only one way out of this. I’m going to have to make a deal with the devil. I’ll need to talk my way out of this. Make him promises, blood sacrifices, give him my body. Whatever it takes. Because I can’t go through this again. I can’t lose Archer again.
Conor presses his hand against my lower back and urges me forward, leading me around to the passenger side. He helps me in, and then buckles me in, hesitating only briefly as he looks up at my face. There is a softness in his eyes I’ve never seen before, and it scares me. It scares me because it makes me feel like I can trust him, and that’s the worst possible mistake I could ever make.
I want him to tell me everything is going to be okay, and for a second, I foolishly believe that he might. But instead, he retreats to the driver’s side and punches a few buttons on his phone, pulling up a café on Google maps. A glance back at Archer ensures me that he doesn’t suspect anything. He doesn’t know how dangerous this man might possibly be.
We drive in silence, and I can’t stop watching Conor, waiting for the bomb to drop. My anxiety is crawling through my veins like poison, and I don’t know what to do.
“Ivy.” Conor reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Quit staring. We’ll talk about this later.”
With some difficulty, I manage to redirect my attention to the road, and after a few minutes, Conor pulls into the café. He ushers us into the shop and directs us to sit down while he orders. Archer and I wait quietly before Conor returns with hot chocolates in hand.
“Here ye go, wee lad.” He slides one over to Archer and then me.
“Be careful,” I tell Archer. “That’s hot.”
“It’s not too hot,” Conor says. “I told them to make it just right.”
I study him, wondering how he would even have the foresight to do something like that. “Do you have kids?”
“No.” He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “But I had a little brother to look out for.”
There’s a vulnerability in his voice that catches my attention, but I don’t ask him to elaborate. Right now, my focus needs to be on surviving. Conor was following me for a reason, and there’s only one reason that could be. He knows what I know, and I’m fucked.
I try not to think about it while we drink our hot chocolate and he tells jokes to Archer like it’s completely natural to him. Like we aren’t sitting at the table with a man who works for the Irish mob.
The trip back doesn’t do anything to allay my fears either. I’m wound up so tight I can hardly breathe when he pulls into Lacey’s driveway without even asking for directions. Further proof that he’s been following me all morning. Possibly even longer than that.